“You surprise me, Inspector. Have a drink.”
“Thank you, my lord. I may say that I’m very grateful to you—this case was turning out a pretty bad egg for me. If I was rude to your lordship—”
“Oh, it’s all right, Inspector,” said Lord Peter, hastily. “I don’t see how you could possibly have worked it out. I had the good luck to know something about it from other sources.”
“That’s what Freke says.” Already the great surgeon was a common criminal in the inspector’s eyes—a mere surname. “He was writing a full confession when we got hold of him, addressed to your lordship. The police will have to have it, of course, but seeing it’s written for you, I brought it along for you to see first. Here it is.”
He handed Lord Peter a bulky document.
“Thanks,” said Peter. “Like to hear it, Charles?”
“Rather.”
Accordingly Lord Peter read it aloud.
CHAPTER XIII
Dear Lord Peter—When I was a young man I used to play chess with an old friend of my father’s. He was a very bad, and a very slow, player, and he could never see when a checkmate was inevitable, but insisted on playing every move out. I never had any patience with that kind of attitude, and I will freely admit now that the game is yours. I must either stay at home and be hanged or escape abroad and live in an idle and insecure obscurity. I prefer to acknowledge defeat.